Tag Archives: learning

Let Them Go Outside

As modern day parents, it’s easy to get wrapped up in the hustle and bustle of it all. It’s easy to find ourselves stuck inside all day, frantically trying to check off endless tasks on our to-do list while our little ones simultaneously undo our progress. There are days I find myself quickly shuffling from one activity to the next and come to realize that the only outside time my kids have experienced is the mad dash from the car to the door.

But when I make the simple but purposeful choice to let us enjoy the outdoors, it is a literal breath of fresh air that feels both rejuvenating and revolutionary. I need it. They need it. From tiny infants to busy teenagers, the call of the wild beckons, inviting their presence and igniting their growth. We don’t need a bevy of toys cluttering our house to let our children learn and play and develop, we simply need the natural wonders that lie just beyond our doorway. So open the door, and let them go outside.

Let them lie on the ground. Let the grass be their blanket and the clouds be their entertainment.

Let them crawl with the feel of the earth supporting their small but mighty strength.

Let them toddle over uneven natural terrain.

Let them run through fields and race through forests.

Let their toes feel the tickle of grass and the squish of mud.

Let them jump off logs and jump in puddles.

Let them climb up trees and climb down creek-beds.

Let them get dirty. Let them come running back to you stained and smiling.

Let them feel the change of the weather. Let their skin tingle with the warm embrace of sunshine, the sweet kiss of a raindrop, and the thrilling chill of a thousand snowflakes.

Let them listen to the beautiful background noise of songbirds chirping, wind rustling through leaves, water trickling in the distance.

Let them find stillness and stimulation, wisdom and wonder.

Let them inhale fresh air and exhale adult expectations.

Let them know their own strength and find their own confidence. Let them dare and let them dream.

Let them discover. Let them learn. Let them explore.

Let them be free. Let them be wild. Let them be alive.

Advertisements

Broken Kitchen Cabinets

IMG_9343

The day started with a cold and dark awakening. Eyes open before the sun even began to peak over the horizon. I was squeezed in bed between two tiny bodies with a chorus of echoing cries; my children’s needs already pressing in on me from both sides.

As I dragged myself out of bed and began the marathon of racing from one emergency to the next as two children needed something and everything all at once, I realized it was not going to be one of those days where I could embrace the joys of motherhood. The darkness of the early morning never truly yielded, but simply faded to a cold grey; a staple of an unrelenting Chicago winter. The weather settled in for the day, reflecting the mood of our household. Smiles were overshadowed by tears, laughter drowned out by screams.

I wasn’t able to be in a space of responding to the kids, thinking and processing with depth and compassion. There was no time for all of that on this dark day. I was merely reacting, attempting to put out fires before another cropped up.

The day wore on and the needs of my children continued to pummel me incessantly, an attack on all senses. The sound of deafening screams exhaled from tiny bodies. The feel of little hands endlessly grabbing for and lashing against my own body. The smell of diapers that needed changing and a house that needed a good scrub. The sight of tears and chaos all around.

One child finally went to sleep, the other awoke. No break. No space to breathe. It was all too much.

I set a crying baby on the floor surrounded by a pile of toys. Grabbing myself a glass of water, I shut the kitchen cabinet a bit too hard. The sharp thwack of wood hitting wood, the freedom of swinging my arm with all its strength felt strangely liberating. I opened the cabinet door and slammed it again. And again. And again. The kitchen cabinet graciously granted me five swings before it’s fifty year old hinges finally gave way. The solid maple door landed with a heavy thud on our hardwood floor. Then a moment of silence.

I looked up, stunned. Glancing out the window I saw our dog in the backyard staring back at me. She had heard the thud. “Are you okay?” her soulful eyes seemed to be asking me through the smears of our dirty door panes and my own tears. Was I?

IMG_9810

Sometimes motherhood feels like this. Heavier than a kitchen cabinet. Darker than a winter night. Harder than I ever could have imagined. Often it feels as if I, like that cabinet, am being slammed by needs over and over and over again. Sometimes I wonder if the hinges will hold me or if I, too, will break. And there are days where I find myself broken.

But I hold on. And I realize that broken can often be a passageway to better, rather than a permanent state of being in which I must reside.

I learn. I learn about limits, both my children’s and my own. I learn about grace, for what I have done and what I can’t do. And I learn about fixing, what needs to be repaired and what needs to be let go.

At the end of the day, even the worst days, comes help and hope. I lean into my need for help, whether it’s a hug or a listening ear or a hand with the kids. I hold onto the hope that tomorrow we can be a bit calmer, tomorrow will be a bit easier for all that we have learned today.

My husband came home and fixed the broken kitchen cabinet, skillfully refastening the door without question or judgement. Words weren’t necessary to know that he was there for me, believing in me even when I couldn’t believe in myself. His arms embraced me in the reassurance that even on my broken days, I’m doing okay.